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The Story Of Me and Then the Story Of Us

It doesn't need to make sense, emotions often don't, but that's okay

By Anonymous LocalPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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They say middle school is always the worst, kids who were innocent leave with sailor mouths and bad breath, kids who thought hot wheels were cool leave with resin on their lips, kids who used to care leave dissociated. I left with knowing what a little piece of metal felt like and the reality of moving away from any of the people that would be intuitive enough to pull my sleeves up.

I moved to a place where school buses weren't just a transportation system and where a hulk wasn't just a superhero and the body you hid under your clothing was something to flash people if you wanted attention. I moved to a place where my anxiety shot up and there was no place for someone who just wanted a friend who cared.

Enter the kid who thought my ass looked nice. Looking back, she was a skeleton of a soul who only wanted something to grab onto, but who was I to judge, right? We both seemed happy until one night I didn't have the guts to tell her 'no'. And thus was a relationship with someone who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer even as I tried to say it over and over many late nights.

But, god, I thought she was beautiful. I thought I saw a light in her that I'd seen in no one else of the sort, looking back, she was just a reflection of someone who I discovered after I hit rock bottom. She seemed like the one, and everyone else thought so too. 'The' couple, as people liked to call us, the longest running in the school. And no one knew that one of the two was losing all the weight the skeleton gained. Compliments on her new found figure came in and people started to like her more, despite the things she spit at them behind closed doors.

The guilt of her mental health the only thing I could think about, she was my priority. Holding her above the water because that's what I thought she deserved, even as I struggled for air in the process. As the years went on, the light in her got brighter and she started talking more about how I wasn't the same person anymore and that I needed to try harder, and I just couldn't stand to hear the work I put in wasn't enough, taking me for granted way too easily.

Then, in a hallway one day, I told her I couldn't let her drown me anymore. And she cried and then told everyone I was a terrible person. I shed a tear and a couple nights later received text messages with only numbers in them, ascending like...like pill capsules. No one reported her, she didn't pass, she admitted it was for attention and that she knew she'd be fine. I couldn't handle that Valentine's day when she brought all my things to me in a box I'd still like to burn. I thought "I don't want to care for anyone as much as I cared about her" and took her highest number and swallowed so many caps that I should have died there that day, but I didn't want to die, I just didn't want to feel. All because of a girl that had changed me so much I couldn't find myself anymore, my skin overgrown for my hollowed out emotions.

I got help before she did, despite my persistence when we dated. The therapist said I cared too much, so when I learned to dissociate, she said I cared too little. Then I found something that helped so much it made me a better person, helped me find myself again. Something that made my breathe smell of skunk and my brain function a little better.

I stopped talking with the therapist and the girl started trying to reach out again, I ignored her. For so long. But the thing is that she's starting to look like a skeleton again and I know now she isn't so beautiful on the inside, but I care too much. I care too much. Or maybe too little. But now her breath smells the same as mine and the list of people she's screwed has gotten longer and I can't care about her bad decisions because then I would overdose on my own. And my responsibility is only to myself. It's been 9 months now, and I'm trying to not care anymore. Still. And that's okay. But your own well-being should be priority, always. I promise.

And that's my youth, the story of me and the story of us, all one blurred image. I still wish I could get a do over, or maybe forget it all.

breakups
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About the Creator

Anonymous Local

Every emotion we have as humans can be manipulated or shut off, and unfortunately I'd like to feel what I'm feeling because it inspires me, no matter how much it hurts. Everyone picks their poison and mine so happens to have a heartbeat.

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